


Bishop Heahmund and Ivar the Anti-Christ

by awesomerosie



Category: Vikings (TV)
Genre: Ambiguous Relationships, Blood, Gen, Kidnapping, Lost Marbles, Modern AU, Religious Discussion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-27
Updated: 2019-03-27
Packaged: 2019-12-18 16:54:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,766
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18253982
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/awesomerosie/pseuds/awesomerosie
Summary: Heahmund is the head of a peaceful little church, at least when a certain cripple isn't there. Ivar is a constant presence, always invading Heahmund's life, even when he suddenly goes missing.





	Bishop Heahmund and Ivar the Anti-Christ

Bishop Heahmund watched as Ivar spoke in yet another language to yet another foreigner. He didn't even know why Ivar kept coming to his church. Ivar hated Christianity and all it stood for, but he hung around more often than Heahmund's most pious parishioners.

The young woman squeezed Ivar's arm before they parted amicably. Ivar was never rude to Heahmund’s congregation, he only ever sought to learn and point out seemingly illogical facets of their faith.

Ivar strolled over to where Heahmund was arranging the hymn numbers for Sunday service. He sat in Heahmund’s chair near the altar and stared up at the stained glass window like it offended him on principle. “Why are you here, Bishop?”

“I am setting up for service,” Heahmund replied, sliding the last number onto the wall. He stepped away to check his work, noting Ivar’s inquisitive face lurking in the corner of his vision.

“Not that,” Ivar said. “Why are you in this city?”

Heahmund picked the little, wooden box of numbers off the floor and took a moment to think. He glanced up at the window and said, “I was sent by God, Ivar. Why are you here?”

“Because I wish to know more,” came Ivar’s immediate reply. He leaned on the armrest, scooting to the edge of his seat. “How did he send you?”

Heahmund rested the box on his hip as he scratched his beard. “The Bishop here died suddenly and I had just finished my training. It was the perfect circumstances for me to become the head of my own church.”

“So, someone died for you to have your perfect life?”

Heahmund flinched. He hadn’t thought of it that way. “I suppose so, but Bishop Marlon is with God now.”

Ivar’s mouth twitched up in an odd smirk. “Are you sure about that? I have heard some nasty rumors about that man.”

Heahmund’s eyes rolled. “Rumors are just that. I have heard nasty rumors about everyone in this town, you and myself included.”

Ivar sat back with a chuckle, eyeing Heahmund up as a predator would with a wounded animal like he always did. “Some rumors have truth backing them, Bishop.”

Heahmund waved him off as he ducked into the supply closet. Ivar had a child’s mind yet. There was nothing Heahmund could say once he got like that.

\---

Ivar stumbled through the church doors in the middle of a surprise thunderstorm with two men Heahmund didn’t know. Their chatter echoed through the halls, drawing Heahmund out of his office. They spoke in the language Ivar always reverted to when he didn’t know the English word.

“Welcome to my humble sanctuary,” Heahmund greeted.

“Ah, Heahmund,” Ivar said, waving him over, “come meet my brothers. Hvitserk and Sigurd, this is my Bishop, Heahmund.”

The one indicated as Sigurd said something that made Ivar’s brow furrow in annoyance. Ivar’s eyes rolled, and shrugged at Heahmund like this was a normal thing.

“Heahmund,” Ivar said in his usual light tone, “we’ve been hounded by the rain. Would you mind if we stick around until it lets up?”

“By all means,” Heahmund said with a laugh, “my church is a haven for all people, Ivar, you know that.”

“Wonderful.” Ivar grinned as he hobbled to the sanctuary doors. “Come, brothers, I will show you my favorite pew.”

\---

Ivar plopped down onto a random bench, grinning wickedly at Jesus on his crucifix. His brothers sat near him, eyeing their surroundings warily. They did not understand the calm Ivar felt in this place.

Hvitserk leaned over the back of his pew, scowl more prominent than usual. “What are we doing here, Ivar?”

Ivar smirked, head cocking to the side in question. “We are waiting out the storm, dear brother.”

Sigurd scoffed beside him, throwing a disapproving glance in Heahmund’s direction. “We’ve walked through stronger storms.”

“My brace does not like the wet,” Ivar said. “From the looks of it, your hair does not like it either.”

The glare Sigurd cast could have killed a lesser man. His hands quickly flew up to try and tame the golden afro sitting atop his head. “You just wanted to see your stupid priest.”

Ivar’s gaze drifted to the corner where Heahmund sat folding bulletins. “I will admit he is stupid, you are not wrong in that regard, but I really did come in to give my leg a rest.”

“And throw your dog a bone,” Hvitserk muttered.

A chuckle bubbled up Ivar’s throat and he shook his head in amusement. One day they would understand his relationship with the Bishop. One day.

\---

All was going well in Bishop Heahmund’s congregation until the day Ivar nearly beat down the back door. As soon as it opened, a bloodied Ivar rushed in, shutting it quickly behind him. Ivar heaved in air as blood dripped steadily from his arm.

“What’s going on?” Heahmund asked, guiding Ivar to a chair.

“I was attacked,” Ivar said. “I think I lost them.”

Heahmund tore off his shirt, pressing it to Ivar’s forearm to stem the bleeding. “Why are they after you?”

“I don’t know. They just attacked me out of nowhere.” Ivar looked at Heahmund like he feared the worst. “Do you think it was a hate crime? Either because I am a cripple or because of my beliefs? I am sure there are people who hate me for speaking out against the church.”

“Oh, Ivar,” Heahmund sighed. He had no idea how to help this poor soul. “Let’s get you cleaned up first, then we’ll talk, alright?”

Ivar looked down like he had just realised he had been hurt. He nodded and replaced Heahmund’s hand on the bundle with his own, watching solemnly as Heahmund rushed to get the supplies needed to mend him.

Heahmund would never forget that night.

\---

Ivar pushed the church door open. His arm had healed and the scar was only slightly noticeable. Work had dictated his every move for the past couple weeks and this was the only moment he had to annoy his favorite priest, so he was very disappointed to find Bishop Heahmund too busy taking confessions to speak with him. Ivar, being the impatient, arrogant, and generally irritating person he could be, marched his way to the front of the small line and stole the confession booth to himself.

“Welcome, my child,” Heahmund said much too calmly for him to have noticed the change in line-up.

“Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned,” Ivar said. He heard a tiny scoff through the latticed window and continued. “I have been having impure thoughts about a certain...religious leader.”

“Tell me, what are these thoughts like?”

“I wish for him to touch me in ways God condemns.” Heahmund actually chuckled at that. Ivar was fairly sure the priest was not supposed to laugh at other people’s sins.

“That is a most heinous sin indeed,” Heahmund said. “Donate to the church and clear your mind of these thoughts with God’s word.”

“Of course, Father.”

\---

The moment that Heahmund thought it was too quiet was usually the moment that Ivar showed up. This night, however, it was not Ivar who stormed through his doors, but his brothers and several men Heahmund did not know. Their eyes scanned the room as Hvitserk and a man with a reddish-brown beard approached him.

“Priest,” Hvitserk said, no preamble needed for this conversation, apparently, “do you know where Ivar is?”

“No,” Heahmund said, “I haven’t seen him all week.” Hvitserk muttered the same words Ivar did when he hurt himself, meaning that there must be something terrible going on. “Does this have to do with the people who attacked him the other day?”

“Attacked? What do you mean attacked?” the bearded man asked. He turned to Hvitserk. “Did you know about this?”

Hvitserk shook his head. “He never tells me anything.”

“Did you see them?” The bearded man asked. “Did you see any of his attackers?”

“No, I-”

“Nevermind then.”

Heahmund suddenly felt more useless than before. “Is there any way that I can help?”

“Just stay here.” He pulled a business card from his suit jacket and handed it to Heahmund. “He might come back. Call us if you hear anything.”

The card said “Ubbe Lothbrok, Viking Exports Regional Manager.” An unfortunate name for one of the most prestigious companies in Europe.

“Of course,” Heahmund said, tucking the card into his shirt pocket. “Are you sure there’s nothing else I can do?”

Ubbe glanced around at the photos on the walls. “Unless you know where he would go, probably not.”

\---

Ivar awoke to a bright light shining in his eyes. He groaned and fidgeted, hand jerking to a stop above his head when he tried to bat the thing away. It was a struggle to open his eyes enough, but he powered through the pain.

Around him was the crumbling remains of a warehouse, fashioned with all the most threatening yard tools. In one corner, a lawn mower hung on the wall with the blades facing out. In another, a giant skull crafted from little bits of sheet metal. It looked like someone was setting up a weird art gallery with him as the centerpiece.

The sound of footsteps drew Ivar’s attention to his own feet where a young man stalked up to him, staring at Ivar like he was a rack of lamb. Broad shoulders and wild red hair did nothing to distract Ivar from his own lack of a shirt, the tattered remains of which were lying around his waist. He liked that shirt.

“Are you finally with us?” Mr. Crazy Kidnapper Man asked, toting around a small stuffed dog like a precious pet. “Oh, how I have waited for this moment.”

Ivar’s chin jetted out, brows twitching upward when he asked, “Do I know you?”

The man spluttered like it was impossible for Ivar to not know the identity of his newest enemy. “I am Archie, the famed Red Paladin of Riverdale!”

“Are you sure?” Ivar asked, “Because you look more like Syndrome from The Incredibles.”

“Archie” took visible offense to that statement and jabbed Ivar in the side with his stuffed dog, which was honestly just confusing. He turned away and began doing something that scraped against the wooden counter.

This man was obviously out of his mind, but without the use of his hands, Ivar was pretty much completely out of ideas. The light above him was hard on his eyes and made everything around him blur together. He had enough strength in his legs to kick out a couple of times, but what good would that do him if they were also tied down or if he then couldn’t free his hands?

Archie spun back around with a game piece wielded like a weapon. “I will finally defeat you Gargoyle King!” he screamed. His breathing stuttered, going ragged as his face reddened. “I will finally win the game and get my friends back, and YOU won’t be able to stop me because you’ll be DEAD!” The maniacal laughter that followed was both terrifying and fucking hilarious. Did this idiot really think he could kill Ivar “the Boneless” so easily?

There was just one thing about this kid’s evil monologue that didn’t sit right with Ivar. “Who the fuck is the Gargoyle King?”

Archie shoved a creepy, grey figure at Ivar’s face, growling, “You know very well who he is. You and your gargoyle minions have been peddling Fizzle Rocks all over town. I fought a bear and survived. This ends today!”

Archie left in a huff, leaving Ivar with more questions and a growing numbness in his shoulders. It was a good thing his father had trained him for moments just like these. So, with a reluctant sigh and a slight wiggle to find the best position, Ivar settled in for a long night.

\---

Two days they searched. If Ivar was a child they would think him dead by now. They couldn’t really rule out either way because no one had even found a clue to where he had gone. It was like he ceased to exist. Or maybe he didn’t want to be found and was using his genius to avoid them.

Ubbe and Hvitserk set up a sort of base of operations in Heahmund’s church. They had been there so long that some of the ladies had started cooking for them and the numerous men that always seemed to be with them.

On day two they were joined by what looked like a homeless man and a woman so beautiful Heahmund had to ask one of the men if they were actually together. They and the giant blonde man they brought with contributed almost nothing to the situation. It wasn’t until Sigurd showed up on day three that they actually found a lead.

“Has anyone checked the tracker?” Sigurd asked, taking a seat at the table.

The flabbergasted and horrified looks on everyone else’s faces would be funny if it weren’t quite so sad.

“He has a tracker?” Ubbe asked, leaning heavily on the table. He looked like he had spotted a dragon poised to burn him to a crisp.

“Yeah,” Sigurd said, “it’s in his brace.” His gaze bounced from face to face, eyebrows creasing as he went down the line. “Seriously? Do any of you listen when he speaks?”

The homeless man, or Ragnar as Heahmund had learned, asked, “Why would he have a tracker?” Everyone’s questioning and concerned stares turned to him. Ragnar leaned back, hands raised in a placating gesture. “I just ask because it’s a risk. What if someone else had gotten that information?”

“Obviously,” Sigurd said, “no one could because not even his family knew about it.”

Ragnar’s mouth twisted down, curving into an upside down ‘U’. “Fair point,” he said. “How can we access this tracker?”

\---

Ivar really hoped that his family was working on getting him out of here. There was only so much stupid and crazy he could handle in the span of a week and this Archie guy was testing his limits.

Archie had spent the past twenty minutes muttering about a “Jughead” and “Betty” doing something with snakes, while also coming over to bonk his head on the light and poke Ivar in the stomach with a plastic knife. At this point, Ivar was just embarrassed that he had been caught by such an imbecile.

Archie pulled the knife across Ivar’s abs again, leaving an angry red mark in its wake. He then waved his hands over the line in what looked like an imitation of someone choking a penguin to death and turned back to the counter behind him. Ivar wasn’t sure Archie even knew what he was doing at this point.

When Archie returned to Ivar with a spoon in his stiff fist, Ivar finally gave in to his boredom. “Are you quite finished?”

Archie jerked back, seemingly surprised that his test subject was still alive, but like clockwork, he was right back into his evil plan of shoving the tip of that spoon into Ivar’s belly button.

Ivar sighed, pulling at his restraints for the hundredth time. “At least make it hurt so I too can enjoy this strange form of foreplay.”

Archie continued ignoring him, and Ivar was beginning to truly feel like a slab of meat.

\---

Much unlike his sons, Ragnar willingly invited Heahmund along on their excursion. On the other hand, Aslaug - Azlawg? Asslog? Something of the sort. - his wife was wholeheartedly against the idea. She seemed to think his position in the church might impact whatever they might have to do to get Ivar back. Heahmund assured her that anything that they had to do to save the life of an innocent was forgivable by God. While that particular “G” word made her nose turn up in disgust, he was fairly sure he got the point across.

Heahmund joined Hvitserk and Sigurd because they seemed the least likely to drop him in an alley somewhere. No matter what happened this was going to be a wild night.

\---

Ivar groaned once again, shifting around as much as he could. His arms were fully numb and his butt was following closely behind. He actively tried to annoy Archie, but even pissing himself wasn’t enough to garner a reaction from the crazy fuck. Soon the room just stank of piss and Ivar wondered if he would become as mad as Archie.

Ivar's stomach grumbled, begging for anything to fill the empty space. Soon his stomach would start eating itself and he would die of starvation, releasing him from this horrifically mundane imprisonment.

“Archie darling,” Ivar asked, “could you spare a moment from your incredibly important work to find me something to eat?”

Archie froze for a second, brain seeming to reset back to its usual level of crazy. “Food?” He poked his spoon into Ivar’s stomach and another growl came rumbling out. “Food.” He drew back, mumbling incomprehensibly.

Ivar was half convinced he had signed his own death warrant until Archie set down his tools and headed out of the shed. Now all he could do was wait and listen to the sickening song of hunger.

\---

Hvitserk and Bjorn, the large blond man, charged into the shabby little warehouse first, the rest of the Lothbrok family following behind them. They clustered just inside the doorway, stopping to gawk at a scenario that none of them could have predicted.

Ivar’s teeth snatched a grape from the hand of a strange man. He chewed slowly, grinning at his rescue party like he had just invited them into his mansion for dinner. “Welcome to my humble home.”

Sigurd, looking the least shocked of all of them, stalked to the table Ivar was strapped to and laughed as he poked Ivar in the stomach. “Good job, dumbass.”

Ivar’s face fell into a most unamused glare, mouth twitching up into a sneer. He quickly fixed it, making his eyes shine with a fake light-heartedness. “Sigurd, my dear brother,” he said, “I am so glad you have come to rescue me from my beloved Archie.” His head turned, eyebrows scrunching at the empty space beside him.

Archie had cowered away from the hoard and was now hiding under the table. He peeked out from between the arms thrown over his head, flinching away from all the eyes now on him. Many confused and exasperated looks were exchanged.

“Well,” Ivar said, neck muscles flexing in annoyance, “is someone going to release me?”

\---

Ivar continued through life as normal after his kidnapping. Heahmund would have been at least partially scarred for life after an ordeal like that, but Ivar kept coming around and talking to strangers like nothing happened. Their day to day lives went back to normal as soon as they returned from the warehouse.

Heahmund puttered around the church basement, quietly observing Ivar as he chatted with Delores. She had recently moved into the nursing home down the street and Ivar was intent on finding out why she still believed in a god that took both of her children before they had made it to adulthood.

Delores sighed and folded her hands in her lap, staring into Ivar's eyes like she might force the understanding into his brain. Her mouth opened, closing a moment later in thought. “I wish to see them again,” she said. “It is a selfish reason, but I pray that they are with him so we may be reunited when I finally die.”

Ivar froze, staring down at her wrinkled hands. His jaw twinged, eyes shaking as he took in this idea, and then he looked up and smiled at her, a soft, reluctant smile. “Alright,” he said, “that is a fair enough reason.” He glanced up at the clock then, frowning at the time. “I must go. Thank you for such a lovely chat.”

Delores helped to steady him as Ivar rose to his feet, saying, “Anytime, dear.” And soon Heahmund was left alone, wondering what on Earth just happened.

\---

Sunday morning was the start of the week to everyone else, but to Heahmund it was the tail end. Every weekday he spent writing, revising, and reimagining the talking points for service and by the time Sunday rolled around he had already gotten sick of hearing the words. So, when he spotted Ivar in the crowd Heahmund couldn't help but wonder what he was doing. Why had he become a priest in the first place?

A cough broke Heahmund out of his stupor, forcing reality back into his head. He had paused too long and he quickly scanned the page before him, carrying on like nothing had happened.

After the service when he was greeting everyone on their way out, he had to come up with an excuse for such odd behavior. “I'm just a bit under the weather,” he said to one of the prayer shawl ladies. “I'll be alright.” The feather of her wide-brimmed hat flopped as she walked away satisfied.

Her exit should have meant that the church was empty. It should mean that Heahmund was released from his duties until he started the week over tomorrow. It would if there wasn't a man standing in the corner. A man with piercing blue eyes and braces on both legs.

“Hello, Ivar,” Heahmund greeted, walking up to him. “I didn't expect to see you here.”

“Evidently,” Ivar said, a chuckle lingering on the edges of his lungs. “Unless you normally stop mid-sentence?”

Heahmund let out an awkward laugh. “No, not usually.”

“Only when there’s a handsome stranger in the crowd then?”

“Oh was there?” Heahmund asked. “I must have been too busy staring at you to notice.”

“Oh, Heahmund,” Ivar laughed, grabbing his chest, “you wound me so.”

“What  _ are  _ you doing here?”

“I wished to see you in action. I have to say, I am a bit disappointed by your performance.”

“Would you like a private show?”

The grin the spread across Ivar's face was both curious and predatory. “I would love one.”

Ivar's mind was definitely heading in the wrong direction. “Somewhere more public, perhaps?” Heahmund asked.

Ivar made no effort to hide his excitement. “I didn't realize our most holy Bishop had such a dirty kink.”

That may have been the wrong choice of words. “That's not what I-”

“No, no,” Ivar interrupted, most amused, “I like the idea. How's the cafe down the street sound? We can get lunch, my treat.”

Heahmund hesitated for a moment, then shrugged. After all, how could he deny this chance to bring someone to God?

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading~  
> Chat with me on [Tumblr](https://rosiewritesridiculousshit.tumblr.com//) at RosieWritesRidiculousShit


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